It's all about the exposure the lens I told her

Winterwynd, afternoon

POSTED: Sat Aug 11, 2018 3:54 pm

500+

OOC: Help him catch butterflies??

IC:


He'd been getting tired of sleepless nights where he couldn't wake up. That easy to reach place he barely remembered before the sun went down and it started again. The mystery his feet solved every time he looked at their colour in the morning, because every night he would wash away the dirt and grime of the day in a little wood bucket. That slice of the confusion could be washed away, but it was never enough to float him the whole picture nice and neat. Never so simple or without complexities, nothing really ever until it was understood. And he wanted that so badly, that clarity, he wanted it so feverishly that he woke tangled in his bedding more and more. From the fever dreams that told him: twist, turn, like some kind of demented night time tango that he could not recall the tune of.

He needed rest, he needed reprieve. Then as the day folded in two, and he saw the dew that soaked the grass and the puddles, when he stepped outside—into that misty world that came after a storm. That was when he suddenly needed butterflies, and so many so fast that he could not control himself.

Mystery had pried open a trunk at the bottom of the stair a few days before the rains hit. Inside was rotted, mouldy mush, shattered glass, and three filthy glass jars. He had gone there, creaked open that rusted lid from a cellar flood from years gone by. Took the jars in his small hands and left with a purpose. To snag wings into hard little cages so he could see the pretty colours and pretend he had pretty colours too. Or something like that, or something less than that, maybe he was just quenching an urge to be cruel to something small even though he loved butterflies dearly. He didn't know and couldn't possibly know, being such a haze to himself, naming himself what he did when he understood how little he understood.

Before he left he tucked a sweet lilac in his hair too, from the rampant garden that surrounded his house on Foxheel. It was his butterfly flower now, it would help him. The butterflies would bow to his butterfly flower, yes they would.


Later, after a walk and a few songs. The scene was set there on the nature-swamped streets that sat near the edge of Winterwynd, his eyes vapid pools of colour, the only thing inside was this wild look. Like everything could happen, or just snap and roll in the blink of an eye. He spotted something white, something green, like seafoam with wings, and he shuffled on over to the roadside bushes all slicked wet. Mystery glanced up quick, to see the faded rainbow stretching behind the church's pointed, glistening top. Colours again, all frivolous and different, and he wanted some in his jar. In his jar, just a small little rainbow streaking around in his jar. ‘Get em get em get em get em get em’

He crept closer, the wet grass licking his legs.
Your voice it chased away all the sanity in me

Mistfell Vale
Elkenfrey
User avatar
Daniel
Luperci

POSTED: Sat Aug 18, 2018 3:35 pm

Lupus (+353)

Hope you don’t mind a Ragna! I haven’t had a thread with you on Mystery before!

Referring to Mystery as “female” because that’s how Ragna perceives them.

The Eklund trotted down the abandoned streets of Winterwynd in her four-legged form. The morning felt muggy with the moisture that clung to the summer air after the brief showers that had come across the land. The ground was dark and moist, and dew collected heavily on many surfaces at the change in temperatures. For someone with a dark coat such as her own, the beaming sunlight and humid atmosphere made her feel a bit grumpier than usual. She was uncomfortable in her own fur, and somewhere in the back of her mind whispered that she should hide indoors until the sun dried up the land or to go take a leap into the Saint John’s River nearby.

She had yet to decide if either were a viable option though, and continued her path down the winding roads of the town. Ragna had no where to be that day, having already made a thorough patrol around the Vale’s borders and having secured breakfast for her lesser companions. The jaunt through the streets was merely a way to stretch her legs and try to find something to do so that she was not idle. It had been how she had come across the sight of a newer member of the Vale.

They—a female by the smell of her—looked to be rather doggish in lineage, as such large patches of ebony and thick, longer fur were not common in the “wilder” kinds. She was short and lean, and appeared very much lacking in any obviously feminine features. These were all minor details though—the Vale was full of dog hybrids and Luperci of all shapes and sizes—compared to the strange actions taken by the younger female. She looked to be trying to catch something in the air with her jar, and it wasn’t until Ragna had quietly come up behind her that she wondered if this Mistwalker was seriously trying to “capture” the rainbow in the sky.

“What are you doing?” Ragna asked, her voice blunt and a brow quirked at the oddity that she had come across.

Ragna Eklund

Mistfell Vale
Wolverthorne
User avatar
Songbird
Luperci Scout I
Do not go gentle
into that good night

POSTED: Sun Aug 26, 2018 7:59 pm

600+

OOC:

IC:


It was a fine day for catching a slice of colour, to fulfill those dreams of his; not the the ones he couldn’t remember, but the ones he could. The ones he conceived in his waking hours behind the silent thrum of two misty eyes and in the background of the guttural utterances of hell. It was all relative of course, relatively speaking and relative to nothing but the inside of his own head, but it didn’t matter. He’d learned long ago that no one heard his demons, no one saw them, and the only real person that had acknowledged them was Lukos of Anathema. But maybe now he was thinking that had been a clever ruse, a trick to calm him down in his time of need. A part of him appreciated the lie, because it had worked, but still a small shred of his hope was spent hoping Lukos understood. Hoping someone somewhere understood.

And this was why butterflies were on the to-do list, because when Mystery found themselves watching, thinking, feeling, they found themselves sinking into a grave hopefulness that could not be trusted. Look at the pretty colours, look at the rainbow, look at the pretty little butterfly. That’s what he was doing, he had readied his hands, two halves of his jar spread wide like jaws to swallow his tiny fragment of fluttering happiness that he would capture and have all to himself. Then he would get more, more, just on to the next one like clockwork that fell into place, and by the end of the day he would have enough to release into his garden and he would never be alone with his loneliness. Never be without his beloved splashes of colour. But when the strange coydog steadied his little hands, standing rigid over the prey, and made his move, a voice called out. One that did not belong to him, him, or her. Another her that they did not know. Mystery flashed to a clumsy freeze mid action, like someone had written the next thing but the page was torn out, and instead he was left with a blank brain and a face that landed flat in the wet brush. The damp swarmed and the chills swept down his ribs, but his head lifted so suddenly with his eyes frazzled, the hairs atop his head pulled one way awkwardly.

Mystery pulled himself onto his knees and scoured the flattened green with his eyes, his imprint a shadow of what had come before. He didn’t see a deadened beauty, crushed and ruined, twitching around trying to fly with torn sails, he didn’t see it and knew he hadn’t crushed that pretty seafoam creature. It was all that mattered in the moment, until it didn’t so much anymore and as it passed he realized his special lilac sat flattened there instead. He frowned, ears falling lightly to mourn the short-lived crispness of his special little flower before peeling it away from where it sat. Mystery mumbled sorely, trying to find a way to frill it back up again, to make it look as it had before the fall, plucking gently at its sagging petals to no avail. “Oh n-no no no no no, I th-think I killed it,” the boy groaned. He didn’t look at the newcomer, though he knew at this point she was there. Because it was likely she had eyes and a face and he didn’t like that one bit, so he stayed looking at his flower for a while with a sad look on his face. “I w-was p-putting floaters in my j-jar.” Floaters in his jar, floaters in his jar, it was kind of bizarre, but he didn’t get very far.
Your voice it chased away all the sanity in me

Mistfell Vale
Elkenfrey
User avatar
Daniel
Luperci

POSTED: Sun Sep 09, 2018 4:20 pm

(+279)


It was clear that she had startled the patchwork female, causing the smaller Mistwalker to suddenly lose their balance and faceplant into the dewy foliage before them. The scene might have been comical had Ragna been someone more in touch with her funny bone. Instead, she merely stared at them as the smaller female gathered herself back up, looking to be more preoccupied with whatever she had been trying to catch. It seemed as if the woman was distraught over a crushed flower.

Whoever this Mistwalker was, they were definitely…different, even for the usual crowd that seemed drawn into the Vale as of late.

“It was already dying,” Ragna pointed out bluntly as she moved closer, peering over the woman’s shoulder. The plant had been plucked from its source. It would have been a matter of days before it grew ugly and withered. The lilac was no different. Looking down at it now, it was not completely destroyed, however, yes, it definitely did not look as it might have once been when freshly picked. “I’m sure there are more around here somewhere.” There was bound to be if this Mistwalker had happened upon this one somehow.

Turning her glacier eyes towards the woman and the jar that had managed to survive the short fall, Ragna’s brows furrowed. “Floaters?” She noticed the forgotten butterfly then, twitching on the ground as it tried to take flight. “You mean butterflies? Why are you trying to catch butterflies in a jar, Mistwalker?” She knew not this woman’s name, and from how she had reacted thus far, there was a high possibility that she had a screw loose somewhere.

Ragna Eklund

Mistfell Vale
Wolverthorne
User avatar
Songbird
Luperci Scout I
Do not go gentle
into that good night

POSTED: Sat Sep 29, 2018 2:43 am

500+

OOC: Yeah! Mystery is a lil different than Virue haha

IC:


That was a little dark. Now Mystery couldn’t stop thinking about how everyone was already dying, that he was already on his way out and soon he would be gone. “G-gone,” he breathed, twirling the flower in a trembling hand. While those horrors were taking flight, and he could pull tug drag, but like a lead balloon it would not stay away from his head. The delicate purple colours would fade away from the lilacs, and maybe death was just icy water and when it struck his colours would wash away and never come back on another shore. ‘It’ll wash you away bye bye goes Mystery’ 'No no you won't it won't'

“Y-yes but not this o-one, not th-this one ever a-again,” he told Ragna with sad eyes of ocean and lake, one frozen one not. Something underneath the hard, cold layers clawing to be let out.

He removed his gaze from the wrinkled lilac, a little angry, but mostly just sad because it wasn’t just a flower anymore. He would die and everything he knew would be swept away. Even if heaven wanted him he couldn’t go. He would have to take the demons with him, because wherever he went, they went. They were a done deal, a set package, and it would be a done and set trip down. Suddenly lead balloons were feeling like a saving grace.

“N-no, f-floaters,” Mystery quickly and adamantly corrected, because the language mattered. He needed to hear that word and know that’s what he wanted. He wanted the pretty little things that float. “Because,” was his reason. But that was it, and Mystery was satisfied with that answer. Catch them to catch them, simple enough. But then the coydog remembered what he wanted them for. “G-garden!” He exclaimed, standing upright again, then he held up the jar to a misty eye. It did funny things to Ragna’s face and he giggled. “F-floaters in my j-jar, then to m-my garden they g-go a-a-and look!” Mystery grinned, tapped the side of the glass and it made a small tink tink. “I c-caught you!”

‘She doesn’t care stop talking and smash that jar on a tree’

Then he lowered the container to peer down at it with sore eyes. “B-but not...not r-really…” He said, his voice dying away with every heartbreaking second Ragna was no longer in his jar.
Then, ears of gray and black sprung to life in one lively snap. “O-oh!” The spotted hybrid shouted, eyes suddenly lit skies. Then Mystery began to scurry away before tripping on a branch, he tumbled and quickly stood back up as if it had been a part of the stride. The strange man's hazy sideways glare bore down on the non-sentient thing like crooked searchlights, all bright and quick with business to do. He growled low before he spat at the twisted bunch of fingers with a righteous nod. “B-bad snake!” Then laughed childishly, limping the rest of the way to where several marked up jars sat leaning against a stone. He picked out a floater-cage with the glee one might pick a flower, and brought it over to show the Wolverthorne. “S-sticks,” he cursed quietly with a shake of his head, as if it were the most relatable thing. The public enemy, the common scourge, the simple menace of the bunch of twigs leftover from a slight wind storm.

Mystery held out the jar to Ragna, looking away, trying to avoid eye contact at all cost. Because eyes were not like floaters, they were hard to understand and even harder to capture. “H-here y-you can h-help I guess.”

But he wasn’t sure now that’s what she wanted to do. Maybe this was another Saga, and he was getting too hyper about this. Chasing a phantom floater that did not exist.
Your voice it chased away all the sanity in me

Mistfell Vale
Elkenfrey
User avatar
Daniel
Luperci

POSTED: Mon Oct 08, 2018 9:44 pm

Lupus --> Optime (+552)

Sorry for the wait! @____@ Hadn’t felt like writing much lately. Mystery is very amusing xD Ragna is super mean though, I’m sorry DX

Ragna found herself blinking as her brain tried to wrap around this strange individual. Was this Mistwalker seriously distraught over a crumpled plant? “It’s a flower,” she reminded the woman bluntly. From her tone, it was obvious that the Wolverthrone did not see the importance of the item to the mottled coydog. “If you hadn’t crushed it, it still would have died. If you hadn’t picked it, it still would have died.” Surely someone of this Mistwalker’s age would have known that by now?

The topic changed as it appeared that “butterfly” was not the correct term to call the insects, or, at least, not to this Luperci. Further explanations as to why the monochrome coydog wanted the “floaters” caused Ragna’s face to fall flat. Like talking with a child, it was with this woman. Her expression didn’t change even when the coydog looked down at her through the warped vision through the glass jar.

There was something definitely off with this Mistwalker.

“No, not really,” she agreed, her voice dry. In the back of her mind, she wondered if the Ravenking or Nightstag had felt pity for this woman or had been intrigued by her to let her into the pack.

Suddenly, the woman was distracted by something and she bolted off, only to trip along the way. Ragna’s feet did not move, though, her eyes followed the strange Mistwalker. In one fluid motion, the coydog was back on her feet, hardly a second spent on the ground. It might have been a commendable recovery, had the Eklund not still trying to process what it was she was dealing with here. A branch. The woman had called the branch a snake.

Slowly, perhaps reluctantly, Ragna followed after the woman.

The short trek put the pair of them before a group of other jars not unlike the one that the Mistwalker had in her hands—and had somehow to yet break. She was offered one, and the ex-soldier found herself looking down pointedly at her forepaws. The curse the woman uttered was lost on Ragna, her confusion apparent with her furrowed brows as she looked back up. When the woman continued to hold out the jar—perhaps not getting Ragna’s hint—the Eklund let out a soft sigh. “Put it down. I need to shift,” she told her.

She waited a beat as if to make sure she would not be in danger with the strange individual during a vulnerable moment. When she was sure that the mottled coydog wouldn’t try to hurt her, only then did she continue with her action. Her limbs elongated, her forepaws transformed into hands, her mane grew out, and her torso took on a more bipedal-friendly form. When she was finished, she brushed some of her bangs out of her face and swooped to pick up the offered jar before standing her full height.

Much taller than her companion in this form, she had to look down at the woman now. “What’s your name? I’m Ragna.” Hopefully, the question would not be another drawn out ordeal as her other one had been.

With a jut of her jaw, she indicated for the coydog to take them wherever she wanted to catch these floaters.

Ragna Eklund

Mistfell Vale
Wolverthorne
User avatar
Songbird
Luperci Scout I
Do not go gentle
into that good night

Mistfell Vale